


Blasphemy?

by leiascully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bible, Crack, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-18
Updated: 2005-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He tried to check his pockets for fortune cookie slips with "in bed" jotted at the end and realized he wasn't wearing any pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blasphemy?

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: N/A  
> A/N: Cracky, dreamy fluff.   
> Disclaimer: _The X-Files_ and all related characters are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Studios. No profit is made from this and no infringement is intended.

In the dream he was wearing some kind of freaky hippy sandals. Mulder had his share of grungy flipflops, but he was sure he'd never owned a pair of sandals like this.

"Scully," he said, wanting to know if this was her doing, if she'd drugged him up with cheap Chinese food and made him buy them while he was on an MSG high. A Kung Pao conspiracy. He swore there was something in that. He'd been saying it for years but she liked pretending chopsticks made it a real meal, the two of them eating out of boxes in her room. "Scully," he said again, stretching out one foot to survey his long toes under the twisted rope of his sandal straps.

Scully stared at him blankly. She was wearing a poncho made of very rough fabric. It reminded him of her suits from the first couple of months of their partnership. She'd had better taste, lately. Perhaps she too had fallen victim to the tawdry thrill of beef with broccoli. If she was eating beef these days, anyway.

"Who is Scully? Are you prophesizing, lord?"

"What?" he asked, more startled than he could ever remember being. Rationally, he thought, most of the times he was startled were immediately followed by more alcohol than was reasonable to intake at one sitting and this was something altogether different. This was a crisis of ill-advised footwear. He tried to check his pockets for fortune cookie slips with "in bed" jotted at the end and realized he wasn't wearing any pants.

"Jesus," said Scully. It sounded like a question. She gave him the eyebrow. Mulder tugged at his robes and wondered what she was looking at anyway; she had medical license to undress him if she wanted an excuse to stare. He didn't think she could see anything anyway.

He needed a haircut.

There were a lot of people hanging around, he realized suddenly.

Oh.

Jesus.

Right.

"You aren't going to kiss me, are you?" he asked Scully. She looked confused.

"Lord?" she said gently.

"Be my rock," he tried.

She smiled like an angel and handed him an apple. He stared at it, mesmerized, until the jingle of metal attracted him and he saw Diana advancing, a ripple of silver coins on a chain around her waist clinking as she sashayed toward him.

"Hello," she murmured.

He tried to turn his face away and her lipstick smeared across his face like a wound. Her dark hair smelled like cigarettes.

Doggett was there as doubting Thomas, and Monica as eager Matthew. Skinner played a stolid John and polished his glasses on the end of Scully's poncho.

"Having fun?" rasped an unpleasantly familiar voice, and Mulder turned to see the old man on a pale horse.

"I think you're in the wrong book," he said. "Anyway nothing you could tell me would be a revelation."

"Be that as it may," said the old man mildly, "I was thinking of retiring anyway. I can't keep up with you and your iconic faithful Magdalene anyway. You ought to learn to keep your disciples straight, boy."

He yanked the horse's head around and trotted off into the sunset, followed by Krycek in his leather jacket looking lean and hungry.

Mulder stared after them.

"Jesus!" a voice said sharply beside him. "Move over, Mulder, your feet are cold."

"Scully?"

"When I said for better or for worse, I didn't mean I was going to put up with this. I'll take you right back to that church and have this annulled."

In the dim of their - their, now that was a revelation - bedroom her smile was luminous.

"Considering the events of the last few hours, I don't think the Church would go for it," he said. "Not even the temple, and you know how much they hate to see a good Jewish boy lost to gentile clutches."

"Good thing you're not a good Jewish boy," she murmured, and pressed against him. "Come to think of it, I may have figured out why your feet are cold. Seems to be a trick of the...mmm. Circulation."

He ran his hands over her joyfully in the unthreatening dark.


End file.
